Laugh It Off: The Case for Taking Life Less Seriously
“Laughter is the shortest distance between two people." --Victor Borge
Here’s something many of us have learned: life is hard, endlessly weird, and if you can’t laugh at it, it might eat you alive.
I used to think humor was just comic relief—something you tack onto the “real” business of grinding, stressing, and white-knuckling your way through existence. Turns out, that’s backwards. Humor isn’t decoration; it’s medicine.
Science backs this up. Laughter drops stress hormones, loosens tight muscles, and even gives you a sneaky cardio workout if you really commit. It also bonds you with other people because shared laughter releases oxytocin—the same hormone you get from hugs, minus the awkward lingering.
In other words, your funny bone is a wellness tool. You just have to use it.
Why Humor Works (Even If You’re a Serious Person)
I’m not saying you need to quit your job and try out for SNL. You don’t even need to be funny. What matters is not taking your own inner monologue so seriously.
Because left unchecked, the mind turns into a humorless IRS agent: spreadsheets of issues, audits of mistakes, grim PowerPoints of doom. A little humor hacks the system. It reframes stress as material, not catastrophe.
Example: you spill coffee on your shirt right before a meeting. Old script: More proof that I am an irredeemable idiot. New script: Apparently, I’ve decided to join the tie-dye revival movement. Bold choice, self.
Same event, wildly different impacts on your nervous system.
Five Ways to Lighten Up Without Quitting Your Day Job
Notice the absurd. Life is a comedy club, but most of us are too busy to notice the show. Train yourself to spot the everyday absurdities: the dog that sits like a person, your boss using “circle back,” “at the end of the day,” and “where the rubber meets the road” every five minutes, and, of course, the socks that disappear into some parallel dryer universe. Write them down. Share them. Savor them.
Laugh at yourself. You don’t need a tight five for open mic night. Just be willing to chuckle at your own missteps. Thought there was one more step on the staircase than there was, and did a little breakdance? Hysterical. Waved at someone you thought you knew, only to be met with a quizzical look? Congratulations, you’re more friendly already. Said something awkward in a meeting? That’s just your brain doing improv. Tip: keep it gentle. The point isn’t self-roasting, it’s self-care.
Make a humor first-aid kit. Collect things that reliably make you laugh: memes, movie clips, ridiculous Instagram videos, texts from that one friend who should honestly have a Netflix special. Keep them handy. When stress spikes, instead of doomscrolling, give yourself a three-minute comedy break.
Inject play. Narrate your commute like David Attenborough. Read your emails in a pirate voice (silently, if you want to keep your job). Dance badly in your kitchen. Adults are just kids with bills—pretending otherwise is exhausting.
Reframe stress with a laugh track. Next time you’re stuck in traffic or staring down some other stressful situation, ask: If this were a sitcom, when would the laugh track kick in? That tiny reframe makes you the star of your own comedy, not the victim of a tragedy.
The Point Isn’t Denial
None of this is about denying pain or grim situations. Bad stuff still happens. People get sick, relationships end, and business deals explode. But humor is a way of carrying it all with less strain. Think of it like putting wheels on a heavy suitcase. Same weight, fewer back issues.
Try This Today
Spot one absurd thing. Bonus if you share it with someone.
End the day by asking: What was today’s funniest moment? If nothing comes to mind, congratulations—you’ve just discovered your new homework assignment for tomorrow.
Next time you’re tempted to say “I’m fine” when you’re not, upgrade to “I’m a hot mess, but at least I’m entertaining.”
Because here’s the wellness secret nobody talks about: a lighter heart isn’t just healthier—it’s also way more fun.
REFLECT:
When was the last time I actually laughed at myself—without turning it into self-loathing? What did that feel like?
What’s one absurd thing about today that I would’ve missed if I weren’t paying attention?
Who are the people that make me laugh so hard I forget to check my phone? How can I get more of them in my life?
When stress hits, do I reach for a coping strategy that helps (humor, breathing, talking) or one that makes me feel like garbage (doomscrolling, stress-eating, rage-tweeting)?
If I treated my current struggles as material for a comedy sketch, what would the punchline be? And what does that say about how seriously I’m taking myself?
